Hands on Me
by Serena Thorn
Summary: Sylaire. Sylar doesn't have to touch Claire to touch her. Tonight, that's what he's counting on. Pleasure can be its own form of torture. But which one of them is truly being tortured? Oneshot.


_Disclaimer: Heroes is not owned by me, but by Tim Kring. I'm simply borrowing these characters for non-profit entertainment._

_A/N: I'm one of those chicks who knows that some nights there really is nothing better than a good massage and come 3A.M. that's what I decided to write about. Sylaire style. And FYI: Sylar and Claire aren't related in my universe and for purposes of this fic she's eighteen. I think that covers everything so I hope you enjoy._

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It was 1A.M. in the Bennet household, pitch black inside aside from one room on the second floor. Sandra had decided to call it an early night. Noah was working late.

Claire however was still studying for an upcoming exam. She had lost some time during her attempts at locating and bringing back Level 5 villains and had to try to play catch up with her school work now. Father's orders.

Sylar had been losing a bit of time himself, he felt.

True, Claire had made it clear that she didn't want anything to do with him. He could still feel for himself how much she despised him. That wasn't enough to turn him around however.

He was outside now, just below her window, hearing her trying to force out thoughts of The Company and of him and struggle to focus on the periodic tables in front of her.

Despite the time she knew taking a break wasn't an option, but she also couldn't shake the feeling that she desperately needed one.

With a smirk, Sylar decided he was more than willing than to help with just that.

In the past she had loathed the feeling of his hands on her, but Sylar knew he didn't have to touch her to touch her. And tonight he certainly wasn't out to hurt her.

Silently, almost too easily, he slipped into the darkened house and lightly took each step one at a time. For a moment he did wonder where that fluff ball of a dog was, hoping that he wouldn't call attention to him.

After all that would ruin his grand surprise.

Of course he could have done this from outside, but he wanted to watch her. Watching her had always been a favorite past time of his. For a moment he mused at the thought of some things never changing.

Just then he reached her open doorway, seeing her sitting at her desk with her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and dressed in an all too well-fitting white tank top and white shorts. It was then he knew just how hard it would be for him to keep his hands off of her.

Quickly he reminded himself that wasn't what he was here for. Not in the literal sense at least.

Still Claire was staring down at the open school book in front of her, a slender hand at her forehead while she fought to focus her eyes.

It was when she let out a frustrated sigh that Sylar took his cue. At first he didn't know where to begin, but soon decided that the shoulders must be a cliché for a reason.

Almost immediately at the sensation of someone touching her, Claire jumped. On reflex she looked to her right should and then to her left. Naturally not seeing anyone, or anything, there.

Any normal person would have calmed at that. But Claire wasn't normal and she knew better. These hands were strong, but tender and seemed to know where she needed them most.

Sylar couldn't help but be flattered when he heard her think his name. After all it could have just as easily been Peter to grant her such comfort. But no, she had thought of him. And only him.

Claire turned her head a little more to her doorway, again seeing no one there. She was relieved slightly then, using the term "relieved" rather loosely.

She knew she could have gotten up to investigate. Sylar was in no way holding her against her will this time. Her own body seemed to be willing to betray her however as she couldn't seem to stand.

She wasn't trapped per se, just severely weak in the knees and apparently in a few other places as well.

"I know you're there," she sighed out as his unearthly hands moved to her neck.

Sylar remained silent as his fingers gently pressed into the sides of her slender neck, moving up to the base of her skull and adding subtle pressure as they trailed back down. What could he say? Still she could claim she was thinking it was Peter, maybe even claim she hoped it was him.

But no. Daddy's Little Girl knew exactly who was touching, yet not touching, her. She may have been cursing herself, and him, for it but she knew she was enjoying this.

She didn't have to see him to know it was him and she attempted to comfort herself in the truth that they weren't his literal hands on her. That his skin wasn't touching hers in any real way.

Though neither could fully deny in that moment how much they wished that weren't the case.

It was when his invisible hands lowered down her back and fanned out over her sides that gave them both a reason to close their eyes.

Sylar in concentration and appreciation. Claire in relaxation and rapture.

Now the young woman had taken to attempting to will his hands even lower, knowing he could hear her thoughts growing more heated and even hear her heart beginning to nearly race.

But that's not what tonight was about Sylar reminded himself. It was about leaving her longing for him, being forced to admit to herself that she wanted him to touch her, that she enjoyed him being in control.

The fact that a rather obvious part of him was enjoying it as well was an added annoyance, he silently admitted.

"Please," she breathed. Her sigh was barely audible but all too easily hit his sensitive ears.

She wasn't begging him to stop. But instead to continue, to finish what he had begun. Originally this was when he had planned to leave. Leaving her wanting and in need, maybe even cause her to think of him as she finished herself off.

Only fair, he decided, given all the nights he had thought of her in such times of need.

With that in his own fevered mind, he quickly convinced himself that it wasn't because she wanted him to that he was going to continue. But instead out of his own want to feel more of her creamy skin even in this way that he couldn't completely resist her request.

As if he were kneeling before her at her desk, he brought both strong, invisible, hands to right thigh, working out over knot within before moving slowly down her silken leg. Repeating the maneuver with her left only moments later.

Deliberately, Claire had parted her legs wider, still willing him upwards once more.

Even Sylar was impressed with the restraint he was showing. Her arousal was still increasing and he silently damned his senses for picking up on it. She was intoxicating in every way to him enough as it was. But he wouldn't give in. He couldn't. Not without his plan severely backfiring.

"I want you to," came the young woman's next soft plea. She wanted him to put her out of her misery. Finally she didn't mean for him to kill her, though in some ways she was considering that to be better. Either way he would be putting an end to this blissful torture.

It was then he knew he had to leave. If he didn't get out then he knew he would stay. Granted he knew he couldn't die now, but he knew what Noah would do to him would be worse should he come home to find him of all people with his daughter in her bed.

That was assuming he would walk in _after_ they had finished.

It took Sylar a long moment of attempting to shake the erotic images from his mind before he realized they weren't his. In his fantasies he was atop Claire. Not the other way around. Yet now he was seeing her fantasy of riding him, her hips in his hands, her mouth plastered to his as he managed to keep up with her furious speed.

He could still hear her panting slightly, even hear her blood rushing through her veins and from how she was arched in her seat he could tell that her eyes were still closed, her legs still parted and her sweet nectar still pooling between them.

He cursed himself once more as he then knew his own fantasies of her were far from over.

Hell, after this he would be lucky if he could fantasize about anyone _but_ her.

With one final glance to her he whispered just loud enough for her to hear, "Next time, my Claire."

The End


End file.
